


Chicken Soup for the Soul(mate)

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Flirting, Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29063430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: Shiro is under the weather. Keith comes over to make him soup.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 101
Collections: Sheith Cookbook





	Chicken Soup for the Soul(mate)

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro’s voice over the phone is hoarse. “Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Of course,” Keith says, wrinkling his brow in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Shiro says, though his words are a touch slurred. “Just a little under the weather, and I’m out of groceries. Any chance you can bring me something to eat?”

“I’m on my way,” Keith says, shrugging his jacket on. “Anything you want in particular?”

“Nothing fancy,” Shiro says. “Soup, maybe, if you’ve got any.”

“Soup it is,” Keith says. “Hold tight.”

Shiro huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”

Keith makes a trip to the nearest grocery store, piling ingredients for chicken soup into his basket. He double checks the recipe on his phone to make sure he has everything before heading over to Shiro’s.

Juggling the groceries in his arms, he uses Shiro’s spare key to access the apartment. He sets the bags on the counter for the time being, filling a tall glass of water to bring to Shiro’s bedroom. He gives a courtesy knock, then enters without waiting for a response.

“Hey,” Shiro croaks from the bed.

“Hey,” Keith says, softly. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Shiro says, though his appearance says otherwise. He looks miserable, drenched in sweat and fever-flushed. He coughs harshly. “Sorry for making you come all the way here.” 

“It’s not even a ten minute walk,” Keith says. “Here. I brought you some water.”

Shiro struggles as he tries to pull himself up to a seat, shaking with the effort. 

_“‘Just a little under the weather’,_ huh,” Keith says, sliding an arm under his back to help him sit up. 

“I’ve been worse,” Shiro says, as if that’s any consolation.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Keith asks.

“I had some toast yesterday,” Shiro says. 

Keith winces. “Tell me before it gets this bad next time. I mean it.”

Shiro smiles as Keith raises the glass to his lips and helps him to drink. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs. “…Die, probably.” 

Keith scowls.

Shiro laughs. “I’m kidding. I’ll be fine.”

“Shut up,” Keith says. “I’m staying over ’til you get better.” 

“You really don’t have to,” Shiro says. He coughs. “I don’t want you catching this.”

“I don’t care,” Keith says. “I’m staying, like it or not. I’m gonna make you some soup, now, so just sit tight.” 

“Actually,” Shiro says, pushing his sheets aside, “I’m gonna take a shower. I’m pretty hot.”

Keith ignores the opportunity for a Lance-grade pick-up line. He touches Shiro’s forehead with the back of his hand, letting out a sympathetic hum. “Here, let me help.”

“You’re gonna help me shower?” Shiro asks.

Keith blushes to his ears. “I, uh— I meant I could help you get there. But, I mean, if you need help, I—I guess I could—“

Shiro smiles. “Relax, Keith. I can shower on my own.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Yeah.”

Shiro pushes himself up out of bed, swaying when he gets to his feet. 

“Easy,” Keith says, steadying him with an arm around his waist. He slings Shiro’s arm across his shoulders and bears some of his weight as he guides him down the hall. He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot and eyes the glass stall. “You’re sure you can stay on your feet long enough to shower?” 

“You offering to hold me up in your big, strong arms?” Shiro slurs. 

Keith’s eyes go wide as he flushes again. “That— that wasn’t—“

A lazy grin makes its way across Shiro’s face. “You’re cute when you blush, you know that?”

“You’re delirious,” Keith mutters, his cheeks burning. 

“Maybe a little,” Shiro says. 

_Maybe a lot_ , Keith thinks, because Shiro never talks to him like… _that._ He’s clearly not in his right state of mind.

Shiro pushes off of Keith and peels off his tank top. His ridiculously defined muscles glisten with sweat. His fingers slide under the waist of his lounge pants, then pause. It takes a few moments for Keith to realize that Shiro’s caught him staring.

“You seem like you’re capable of taking your clothes off by yourself, so, uh, good,” Keith stammers. “I’ll just… be in the kitchen.”

With that, Keith rushes out of the bathroom and scampers to Shiro’s small but tidy kitchen. He tips his head back, sighing. He _needs_ to get this crush under control. Shiro is counting on him.

And Shiro needs soup. Keith wouldn’t call himself a great cook, but he’s decent, and the chicken soup recipe he found online is quick and easy. He rummages through the cupboards to find what he needs: a cutting board, a decent set of knives, cookware, some basic spices.

He checks the recipe on his phone. _Chicken, onion, carrots, garlic._ He chops them up, finding an easy rhythm, then sets the burner to medium-high. With a splash of oil, he sautes them in the same order. 

_Basil, thyme, sage, salt, pepper._ He sifts through Shiro’s spices and adds pinches of each to the pot, before dumping in the chicken and vegetable stock.

When it comes to a boil, he tosses in the bowtie pasta and brings it to a simmer. He eyes the clock: 2:43. He’s got fifteen minutes—enough time to check on Shiro, because fuck, now that he thinks about it, the shower’s _still_ running.

“Shiro?” Keith knocks at the bathroom door, barging in when there’s no response.

Shiro’s sitting down on the shower floor under the spray, resting with his cheek pressed against the glass wall. 

Keith reaches into the shower and turns the water off, the temperature gone cold from being on so long. He kneels beside Shiro, heedless of the water soaking his clothes. “Hey,” he murmurs, lightly patting Shiro on the cheek.

Shiro rouses slowly, eyes blinking open. “Oh. Keith.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I just... got dizzy. Had to sit down, and then, I guess I kind of… Sorry if you were worried.”

“It’s alright,” Keith says. Except it’s not, really; Keith should have stayed here with Shiro instead of bolting to the kitchen. He steps out of the shower to grab Shiro’s bath towel. “Let’s get you dried off, okay?”

Shiro nods, the movement more of a loll. 

Keith towels him off as best he can with him still seated on the shower floor, doing his best to ignore his hammering heart and ignore how fucking attractive Shiro’s body is. He tries to remind himself of the circumstances: Shiro is _sick_ and that’s why he needs help, help from his _best friend_ and nothing more. 

Shiro coughs, harshly, eliciting a slight groan.

“You’re really not feeling well, huh,” Keith utters, sweeping his wet bangs out of the way to press the back of his hand to his forehead. He’s still burning up, even after the cold shower. “Can you stand?”

Shiro pushes himself up, getting about a foot off the floor before he falls and Keith has to catch him. 

“I’ve got you,” Keith says. He throws the towel over Shiro’s front before sliding his arms beneath his back and knees, lifting him into a bridal carry. 

“My knight in shining armour,” Shiro says, with a weak chuckle. “My _paladin_.” 

Something about the way he says it makes Keith’s breath catch. “L-let’s get you back to bed,” he says, heart fluttering as he makes his way down the hall. 

Back in the bedroom, he sets Shiro down on the towel so he can rummage through his drawers to find him some underwear and pyjama pants. 

“This wasn’t how I pictured getting naked for you,” Shiro murmurs. 

Keith chokes. “What?”

“Hm?” Shiro says, dazedly. 

Keith swallows and sighs. He resumes his search through Shiro’s dresser, finding briefs and a pair of light grey sweats. “Here,” he says, helping Shiro into them. He eyes the bed. “Can I change the sheets for you?” 

“That’d be great, thanks,” Shiro slurs, closing his eyes. “Closet. Top shelf.”

Keith retrieves the linens from the closet and peels away Shiro’s sweat-drenched sheets to replace them with fresh ones. 

“This should be a bit better,” Keith says, scooping Shiro up and depositing him on the newly made bed. He strokes Shiro’s cheek. “How are you holding up?”

Shiro leans into Keith’s touch, nuzzling his palm. “I’m okay. Feel better with you around.”

Keith gives him a soft smile before standing up. “Good. I’m gonna go—“ 

Keith freezes as Shiro’s hand shoots out and ensnares his wrist. 

“The soup’s on the stove, Shiro,” Keith says, gently. “It’s almost ready. I’ve gotta go check on it.”

Shiro blinks a few times and lets go. “I—I, uh. Sorry.” 

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Keith promises.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, shrinking back.

Keith leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead before making his way down the hall.

There’s a hiss from the kitchen. “Shit,” he says, sprinting to the stove.

The soup’s boiled over, the pot’s bubbling contents spilling over and splashing onto the flat cooktop. Keith swiftly moves the pot off the burner for a few moments to calm it down.

Turning the heat down, he gives the pot a stir, unsticking the noodles from the bottom of the pot. They’re still a bit crunchy, he notes, sticking one in his mouth—another minute or so should do it.

In the interim, he gives the parsley a rinse and chops it up. He tosses it in, and, after tasting another spoonful of the broth, adds a couple more dashes of salt. 

Searching through the cupboards, he retrieves a deep ceramic bowl and a spoon, which he sets on the counter. Another taste test tells him the pasta is cooked—soft with just the right amount of chew to it—so he ladles a generous serving into the bowl and carries it with a tea towel to Shiro’s room. 

He sets the bowl on Shiro’s end table for a moment as he helps Shiro to a seat, keeping an arm around him, before transferring it to his own lap. 

“This looks great,” Shiro rasps, leaning against Keith.

“It’s not bad,” Keith says. He scoops up a spoonful, careful to get a little bit of everything in the soup, and blows on it before bringing it to Shiro’s lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“You’re feeding me,” Shiro observes.

Keith blushes. “I-I don’t have to. Do you want—“

“No, I like this,” Shiro says, with a slight smile. He opens his mouth and, as the soup hits his tongue, elicits a small gasp, eyes wide.

“I told you it was hot,” Keith says. 

Shiro shakes his head as he chews and swallows. “No, it’s just— This is so _good._ This isn’t from a can. You _made_ this?”

“It’s nothing special,” Keith says.

“It’s perfect,” Shiro insists. “Just like you.”

Keith blushes to his ears. “I… uh…”

“I-I’m sorry,” Shiro says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I think it’s just—this fever. Normally I’m better at suppressing it.”

“Suppressing what, exactly?” Keith asks, quietly.

“That I’m in love with you,” Shiro says, before his brain catches up. “…Shit.”

Blood thrums in Keith’s ears. “Really?” he whispers. 

“How could I not?” Shiro says, with a sad smile. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“I feel the same way,” Keith says, grasping his hand. “Shiro, I love everything about you. I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

Shiro gapes at him, stunned. “Then… why haven’t we…”

Careful not to spill the soup in his lap, Keith presses a light kiss to Shiro’s temple. “I’m going to kiss you properly,” he promises, “when you’re better.”

Shiro’s pretty grey eyes are wide. “You really mean it?”

“I really do.” Keith presses another kiss to Shiro’s warm cheek, before drawing more soup into the spoon. “Now eat up,” he says, and Shiro obliges with a smile.


End file.
